


reaching out

by griefiary



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Aliases, Gen, Good Parent Jason Todd, Jason Todd Is Okay At Feelings, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Nonbinary Character, Said OC is not his biological child but simply one of the many alley kids Jason takes care of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28972896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griefiary/pseuds/griefiary
Summary: “Kid, she kick you out again?”The hands in their lap ball into bruised fists, knuckles whiting. They swallow, hiccuping, stubbornly glancing towards the puddle in front of them. He watches them fight the fresh tears that threaten to spill. A pang in his heart, a lump in his throat; it feels like a gut shot, all too familiar, lethal still.
Relationships: Catherine Todd & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Original Character(s), Jason Todd & Willis Todd
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	reaching out

**Author's Note:**

> This was a 6k one shot but i decided to break it down into a series.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been drifting, tucked into his mother’s side and enveloped by her warmth. The hard slam of the door jostles both of them, heads snapping to the direction of the sound. Jason blinks the sleep from his eyes, sudden ice blowing into the apartment space. He recognizes the figure of his father backing towards the couch. A weight settles on his crown, ruffling his curls, muttering his apologies and leaning down over to press a kiss to Catherine’s temple. He shucks his jacket off, rumpling it on the armrest, the stench of tobacco wafting off of him. Jason settles back into the couch.

“Scoot, ya little nightmare,” Willis says when he rounds the coffee table, gently pushing Jason’s knees to the side, draping an arm over him - and Catherine. “What’re we watching?” 

“It was Jasey’s turn to pick.” Lights flicker on the screen as the scene bleeds into the next, “We went to the library today, rented.” 

“Yeah? That right, Jase?” Willis drags a can off the glass table, a hiss of air when it pops open, foam gathering around the rim. He takes a slow sip, eyes glossing to the monolith of a TV. 

“Yeah -- the Sword in the Stone. Miss Caller said it was her favorite movie when she was my age, so..” Jason trails off, tucking his face into Catherine’s side. Hearty laughter fills the apartment, Willis reaching over to cup the nape of Jason’s neck, squeezing lightly. 

The laughter dies down when Willis takes another sip, placing the can back onto the table, “You see our boy, Cathy? A little slimer already.” Pride resonates from every word, his father peering down at him, a grin etched wide into his face. Catherine’s knuckles trace Jason’s cheekbones, humming in quiet agreement. After a beat of comfortable silence, Willis drones on, “Y’know what? I’m gonna take you to work tomorrow. Learn a thing or two from your old man.” 

At that, Jason sits up straight, suddenly more awake than he was, “Can I?” 

Catherine makes a sound of protest behind him, turning over to face Willis, quieting only when he shakes his head at her. He looks down at Jason when he speaks again. “A boy your age oughtta know how to know his way ‘round a car.”

-

With his back pressed flat against the pavement, water running around him and towards the drainage, cool air biting into the exposed skin of his throat, he knows he would rather be anywhere else than under Chairman Gully’s car, fixing a defunct tilt fuse to the exterior. The fragile thing about fear, he’s learned well enough, is that it can only go so far when you don’t know the face of death. Simon Gully is about to take that lesson to heart, and maybe, if he’s half as smart as he makes himself out to be on the Channel 7 news, he’ll resign from that cushiony seat of his. Red Hood fiddles with the dummy explosive, rigging epoxy putty to it with deft, skilled hands. 

He holds his breath, a moment or two, and satisfied that the dud will hold, grips the lines of the vehicle and pushes himself out and into the thick rain. It drums around him, drowning out the sounds of the city. Casting a last glance to Ruby’s Hotel sign above him, he steps into the alley. In the corner of his eye, he catches the private detective he’d hired under Simon Gully’s wife’s name, in the second story window opposite the hotel. He offers a wave, grinning under his helmet as the private eye bristles. To her credit, she only takes a quick shot, and refocuses on the hotel -- she’s here for dirt on an unfaithful husband, not the ire of a crime lord. Red Hood, seen, a footnote. Evidence of his tampering. 

The rain only softens when he carries himself into the Narrows, boots scraping against concrete. This late, barely anyone wanders the streets. The people who shuffle by him don’t make eye contact, stoic and unfazed as any Gothamite would be, but the few that do offer a curt nod; native East Enders. 

He stops, seeing a familiar face by one of the thinly spread bus stops on this side of Gotham. Bleached blonde hair, black leather jacket, fishnets under torn mom jeans, and platform boots. “Rough night?” He asks, sitting next to them. The mechanical voice doesn’t faze them in the slightest. They actually look relieved when they realize who the man sat next to them is, shoulders easing.

“Could say the same for yourself.” Kieran’s exhausted laugh is muted by the rain still falling around them. Eyeliner drips down their cheeks, lashes clumping together, and anyone else may have just chalked up to the weather. But red, puffy eyes meet the lenses of his helmet, and this a teen in the Narrows, he knows better than that. 

This time, a little softer. “Kid, she kick you out again?” 

The hands in their lap ball into bruised fists, knuckles whiting. They swallow, hiccuping, stubbornly glancing towards the puddle in front of them. He watches them fight the fresh tears that threaten to spill. A pang in his heart, a lump in his throat; it feels like a gut shot, all too familiar, lethal still. Kieran looks back up at him, answers him with a wordless nod. 

He sucks in a breath, quells the instinct for, for -- something that rushes over him. “Okay.” Offering a hand to them, he rises slowly the moment that they take it. They step out of the bus stop, back into the fray. Red Hood keeps his space when they walk side by side, down a route both of them after months know by heart. Kieran grips his hand like it’s a lifeline, and he makes no noise of protest. 

Then, with hope, “You still have Peter’s number?” 

“That Haywood guy? Yeah.” A squeeze of his hand when they round the corner, the familiar building on the corner coming into view. 

“He’s good people, Kier.” He turns to face them when they reach the shelter’s doors. Without thinking, he lets gloved fingers run along the arch of their brow, down to their cheek bone. Like grasping a hot iron, Red Hood moves to pull away, but Kieran is quicker and younger than he is, arms wrap around his bulk. He tucks his chin over their temple, humming in quiet. They bury themselves into his chest, and Red Hood finds his hand coming to rest on the nape of their neck. They stay like that, for what must only be a few short moments, but to him, it may have been an hour.

“I know he is if you say he is, it’s just --” 

“Reaching out is hard, I know. Kid, I know.” 

Kieran pulls away, reaching up to wipe the makeup out of their eyes. Red Hood pushes the stray fringe to the side, forgetting that Kieran can’t see the smile under his helmet. 

“Get going. It’s cold and I don’t want Cece chewing me out for child endangerment if you catch a cold on my watch.” He deflects quickly, motioning to the ringer on the door, and stepping back. 

Kieran groans, back bracing against the door, pushing it open with practiced ease, “My mom kicked out the same night as Cecilia’s shift? It’s like the universe has a personal vendetta against me, or something!” Despite the harsh bite of tongue, they smile, offering a wave when Red Hood just shakes his head at them, and he watches them disappear through the door. 

He glances to his boots, feels the wet bleeding through his socks and welling in his soles. That’s enough for one night. 

-

The sound of something hitting the breakroom’s table forces his eyes away from his phone, setting it on the table, face down. He peers up, Cecilia’s arms folded firmly over her chest, her gaze expectant. Peter raises his brows in response. Sighing, she motions to what she’d smacked onto the table, right beside his tea mug. The Gotham Gazette, headline: GULLY RESIGNS, DROPS CAMPAIGN. Subheading: CAR BOMB DUD RED HOOD TIES -- INVESTIGATION PENDING. 

He shrugs, leans over to grab the mug and presses it to his lips, “Everyone and their mother knows Gully funnelled social funds for his mayoral bid.” He takes a sip, pausing when the social worker sinks into the plastic chair opposite him. She rests her head on the table, groaning into her arms. “And that he only got off by bribing the judge.”

Cold blue eyes meet him when she sits up, her lips curled into a scowl. “Funny, no one’s heard from his honor in two weeks.” 

Peter tilts his head, keeps his smile tight, “I imagine he’s somewhere in the Bahamas after getting compensated like that, probably enjoying a nice swim.” 

“I see.” Her tone drops completely, flat, “I don’t know if I like that.” 

Peter stretches in his seat, “Well, it’s nice knowing we might be able to afford more beds soon, maybe another washer?” 

The silence stretches between them, before she stands, dusting off her pencil skirt. The two of them keep their eyes locked on each other, echoing days when they’d been Amnesiac Missing Persons Detective and Crime Lord Slash Vigilante facing off, and not Current Social Worker and Shelter Volunteer. There being a connection between Red Hood and Peter Haywood is something she’d put together in her first month here, but how deeply the two might be intertwined - well. That’s something she’d have to stew on. Cecilia folds first, drawing him back into the present, sighing as she runs her fingers through her hair. 

“Another washer would certainly be a relief. Your break’s over.”

“I’m not getting paid!” He calls after Cecilia, who’s already disappeared into the hallway. The mug’s steam still curls in the air when he washes it down the sink, sneering. He’d just made that too. 

He flips the phone when he picks it back up again, surprised to find a new message waiting in his inbox. It reads: UNKNOWN SENDER; ‘Is this Peter? A friend said you could help.’ 

-

Six months pass faster than he can process, and before he knows it, he and Kieran are hugging, really hugging -- for the first and last time. Life bustles around them, the bus station packed with commuters from all corners of the east coast. Cecilia, Peter, and Kieran are gathered in front of the terminal, destination: Star City. Cecilia had done everything to track down some of Kieran’s more distant relatives, and with some elbow greasing, made sure their lawyer made it a swift and painless custody battle. Peter thinks he might catch a smile, though she keeps her distance, hugging herself as she watches them. Fingers digging into her forearms. 

The driver calls last chance, Kieran pulls him in Peter, squeezing. Under their breath, they mutter a quiet, “Thanks, Hood,” just for his ears, that has him standing rigid when they’re pulling away, hauling their duffle bag along. 

A fond grin falls on his face when Cece eyes him and he recovers, waving her off as Kieran steps onto the bus, “Don’t forget to call when you get there!” 

“I won’t!”

“Liar!” 

“Learn to text!” 

“I won’t!”

**Author's Note:**

> harass me on griefiary dot tumblr dot com


End file.
